


How Little Must I Know

by the_obsidian_ronin



Series: Offworld [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Assassin AU, Assassin Ben, Kylux - Freeform, M/M, Modern AU, Templar AU, Templar Hux, crossover AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 00:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11543394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_obsidian_ronin/pseuds/the_obsidian_ronin
Summary: Chicago, 2017.Assassin Ben Organa-Solo finds himself in the clutches of a ginger Templar named Armitage Hux, who has some very compelling things to say.(Potential long fic?)





	How Little Must I Know

**Author's Note:**

> So, Icse and I were playing around with the idea of a sequel to A Lesson in Humility, our Obikin Assassin version of this. So this is like, a water-testing of a Templar Kylux AU with a shit ton of historical elements. Yay!  
> Enjoy. Comment with ideas or wants for a potential full-length.

The whirl of Chicago never seemed to stop around him. The tingle of his hidden blade, implanted in his arm, seemed far too familiar than Abstergo would like. But on winter nights such as that, it ached with the drifting snow. 

The racket of the el seemed familiar too, but the Assassin was not from here. Even his dark hair and pale skin didn’t tell you where he was from; just another European, transplanted somewhere along his family line. On a particular bad rumble, the man standing in front of him stumbled, apologizing to Kylo with blue, apologetic eyes and red hair, skin paler than even his. 

He mumbled an acceptance, and returned to his reverie.

Every city sounded the same, anyway. Chicago, Shanghai, Toronto, New Delhi. All the same, the same racket, the same shouting, the screaming; but it was the languages that pressed on him that were different. Chicago’s English and German dominance was sometimes overshadowed by the Latin community, the three languages like a strange harmony together. Shanghai had far too many languages to decipher, and Toronto was silent, French and English in a romantic melody. New Dehli was so long ago, Ben couldn’t remember what it was like. 

But that was his name. Ben. Benjamin Organa-Solo, Assassin of the Modern Era, a globalized offensive against the globalized Templar. Chicago was by  _ far _ one of the strongest Templar holdings in the United States, seconded by New York. 

The Orange Line dropped him off at Union Station, where all the lines and trains seemed to connect to him. How true that was, he wasn’t sure. He’d only rarely been to Chicago. 

He pulled the gray hood low over his eyes and pulled his leather jacket over his sweatshirt, hugging them close.  _ Next time, _ Ben muttered,  _ I’ll have Bishop send me with Rebecca and Shaun. They get all the warm places.  _

He rolled his shoulder, the irritated joint popping in three places. He grunted, letting the sore muscle relax into the cold. His stomach howled, and his hand clenched it. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate. His mission was to speak to the leader of the Watch_Dogs. Avery, Aiden, something like that. He couldn’t quite remember.  _ Something’s wrong. I always remember. _

He stumbled down an alley, huddling against a brick wall and clawing at his face with shaking hands. As his vision faded, the man from the subway stood in front of him, hands clasped behind his back, and the Templar Cross on the lapel of his woolen coat. “You better live, Solo. I have orders to bring you back alive.” 

_ I’ve been betrayed, _ the man though, vision blurring.  _ Someone.... From the inside.... _

  
  


“There now, isn’t that better?” 

The voice was British, maybe Irish, and seemed to come from everywhere. The area around him was dark, uninhabited, and seemingly endless.  _ The Animus. _

“You see, Ben, the Assassins have been lying to you. About your heritage, about your potential. I can show you your true power, power unseen since Desmond Miles. You are a genetic anomaly, a result of high concentrations of First Civilization DNA.” A man materialized in front of him, those unforgettable blue eyes and pale skin. “I am Armitage Hux.” 

“I should kill you,” Ben snarled back. “Kidnapping, assault, drugging--” 

The ginger held up a hand to silence him. “The both of us have lists longer than this planet is wide on reasons why we’re both going to Hell, Assassin Organa-Solo. The sin of listening to your enemy is likely far less than the atrocities we have committed.” 

“Fair point.” 

Hux nodded, then stalked a circle around Ben. “As I was saying, I am Armitage Hux. I am the son of Grandmaster Brendol Hux, as I’m sure you put together. I have spies everywhere watching you, little one. You’re already questioning your leaders, your handler. What’s her name? Bishop?” 

“You leave her alone, she has  _ nothing _ to do with either of us,” Ben snarled, eyes narrowed. 

Hux raised an eyebrow. “My my, so defensive. Are you willing to hear me out?” 

Ben curled his lips, but nodded. 

The stories woven by Hux told the tale of his ancestor, Jason Russell, during the American Revolution. He was nothing special, not really; but he’d died in the arms of Connor Kenway, and it was the Piece of Eden that was handed over that was so special. 

“This fiber of First Civilization technology is the rarest one so far. And you, Ben, have the genes to wield it, like your ancestor, and even like your mother.” Hux trailed a finger along Ben’s jaw, but he didn’t flinch away. It all made sense. The lies, the secrecy. 

“What about the rose?” Ben breathed, eyes focused on the ground. “When I was a child, my parents hid a codex from me. It had a white, five-petaled rose on it.” 

“That is commonly known for the Priory of Sion,” Hux nodded. “They are an Assassin organization dating back to the biblical times. Supposedly they protect the Holy Grail, the Piece of Eden we know as the Apple. Where it is now, though, I cannot say. Templar hands do not have it, so it’s a good start.” The piercing blue eyes grinned at him, and he said, “If you help me find it, your life is spared. The life of your mother, the Senator, spared. Your father, the smuggler, spared.” 

“What good is the word of a Templar?” Ben asked, but it was compelling, drawing. 

_ They’ve lied to your whole life, Ben. The Priory, the Grail, the Fiber.... Something isn’t adding up here.  _

“I want answers,” Ben finally answered. “And you’re the best way.”

Hux grinned. “Good man. We’ll codename you Kylo Ren.”

_ Kylo Ren. _ Sounded like a teen child’s angst name, but he nodded. “At your service, Master Hux.” 


End file.
